


Trick or Treat

by petyrbaealish



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bad Puns, F/M, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Puns & Word Play, Shameless Smut, Smut, Wordplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 21:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12566568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petyrbaealish/pseuds/petyrbaealish
Summary: It's Halloween and Sansa takes inspiration from her Devil costume, finally instilled with the courage to go after the man she's wanted for years.





	Trick or Treat

The idea had come to Sansa as she drove to the party that her friend Margaery Tyrell was throwing with her brother, Loras Tyrell, and, once she’d thought of it, she couldn’t seem to get it out of her head. She’d seen the trick or treaters skipping about, going door to door in costume, with hopes of chocolate and other sugar infused goodies. And, suddenly, she found herself wishing that it was more socially acceptable for an eighteen year old to go trick or treating. 

Not for the candy, mind you, but for an excuse to visit the man that had haunted her thoughts more often than not, ever since they’d first met. Of course, Sansa didn’t think Petyr Baelish would likely be passing out candy to hopeful neighborhood kids- charity, even in the spirit of a holiday, wasn’t exactly his style, nor did she think he particularly indulged in any of your typical holiday traditions- but still, she quite enjoyed the fantasy of stopping at his doorstep, dressed in costume and asking for a treat.

Before she knew it, she had turned the car around, heading in the opposite direction of the party she was supposed to be attending, seized with a desire to fulfill her idle fantasy. It was absurd and reckless, and normally she would never entertain following through with such an urge, but she felt strangely brave tonight. Perhaps it was the fact that it was Halloween, a night where anyone could be anyone or anything, and if people could play at being vampires and ghosts, then she could certainly play at being courageous. Or, perhaps it was her own costume, which was, quite fittingly, a rather sexy version of the Devil, which encouraged her to be wicked. Dress the part, and you’ll become the part. 

Or something of that nature.

Whatever the case, Sansa kept driving, heading straight to Petyr’s house with a fervid determination, anticipation crawling along her skin. Long ago, when she’d first realized her attraction to him, she’d looked up his address. Over the years, she’d made excuses to walk or drive by his house, as often as she could, the address burned into her brain. She’d even consulted Google Earth on occasion. Anything to satisfy her cravings to see him more, to learn more about him.

The fact that he was nearly of an age with her parents only seemed to make him more irresistible, and the grey lining his temples only served to make her want him even more as well. But, despite her infatuation, Sansa had never acted on her feelings, too shy to do so, and all too aware that it would be illegal for them to pursue a relationship if, on some rare chance, he actually wanted her too.

Those obstacles weren’t present tonight, however, and she had no qualms about finally going after what she’d wanted for years. She was eighteen and in her first year of college, legally allowed to date whomever she wanted. And the shyness that had always held her back before was bizarrely absent tonight. Sansa wasn’t about to waste such an opportunity.

She found his street, her heart leaping as she spied his car parked in his drive. Knowing how rare it was for him to be home so early, she took it as a sign to continue, and pulled in behind his car, pulse skittering from excitement, anticipation, lus,t and a myriad of other emotions save for the nerves that usually held her back. Quickly, she pulled down the driver’s side vanity mirror and checked her makeup, fluffing the fiery curls that cascaded around her shoulders, and down her back, their hue clashing with the red leather of her Devil costume, and the red sparkly horns perched on her head. 

Satisfied, she turned the keys in the ignition, and shut off the car, retrieving her purse from the passenger seat before she stepped out onto the driveway. Her heeled thigh high black leather boots clacked against the asphalt as she made her way to Petyr’s front door. His porch light was off, a sign that he wasn’t passing out candy tonight, and trick or treaters passed over his house and onto the next one without giving it a second glance. Confident that there wouldn’t be any interruptions to what she hoped would be a fruitful conversation, Sansa squared her shoulders and knocked.

At first, there was no response, and her shoulders drooped dejectedly, heart sinking, but then she heard the unmistakable sounds of footsteps drawing closer and her heart stopped both its descent and its beat. Swallowing back a sudden burst of nerves, she adjusted the skirt of her costume, which, skin tight and frighteningly short, had ridden up as she ascended the steps to his porch. She tried to settle her stance in what she hoped was an alluring pose as she heard the sound of a lock turning and the door opened.

And there he was, slightly more disheveled than she was used to seeing him, in his shirtsleeves, cuffs pushed halfway back to his elbows, tie gone, collar unbuttoned. If Petyr was surprised to see her there, he didn’t show it, though his gaze lingered as it traveled down her body, taking in her attire.

Sansa shifted on her feet and flashed him a grin that she meant to be coy with a hint of wickedness, but probably just looked nervous and pathetic. When she spoke, her eyebrows lifted, her tone tinged with an unmistakable hint of hope, the words unintentionally forming a question. “Trick or Treat?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in the smirk she’d adored since she’d first met him, and he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “I’m afraid I don’t have any candy to placate you with tonight, sweetling.”

Her heart deflated. This wasn’t how she’d expected this conversation to go….

Then-

“I suppose that means I’m in for a trick, due to my lack of foresight,” Petyr continued, smirk growing. “As your costume suggests all manner of debauchery, I expect you have something quite sinful in mind?”

Hope returned, blooming tenfold. Sansa lowered her lashes, lips curving in a smirk to match his own. “No tricks,” she murmured. “But I had hoped for a different sort of treat than candy.”

“Oh?” His voice was suddenly even huskier, the sound threatening to make her knees buckle.

Heart fluttering faster than a hummingbird’s wings, Sansa nodded, not trusting herself to speak as she raised her gaze to meet his. Petyr pushed away from the doorframe and stepped backwards into the house, one finger beckoning her forward as he made room for her to enter. She complied, noting how his gaze had darkened, clouded by what she was certain was lust. Excitement, anticipation, and nerves jangled for dominance in a fight for her state of mind with every step she took.

He closed the door, casually flicking the lock, then turned back to her, head cocked to one side, gaze appraising. Sansa wanted to look around at her surroundings, years of curiosity craving satiation, but her gaze was rooted to him, and him alone. They were standing close together, but not close enough to touch, and he took a step towards her, then another, bridging the gap.

Petyr reached over, taking a spiraled curl between his fingers, eyes trained downward as he toyed with the strands. “What did you have in mind then, sweetling?”

Sansa’s mouth felt dry, her tongue unwilling, and when she failed to respond, he glanced up, gaze searching. She licked her lips, eyes pleading, hoping he’d catch her meaning. He took another step closer, his hand releasing her hair to take her bare shoulder, thumb caressing her skin. His lips were a whisper from her own, inviting her to finish the distance, taunting her to follow through with what she’d started, and she gathered her last reserves of Halloween inflated courage and crossed the line.

As their lips met, a jolt shivered down her spine and to her core, and Sansa instinctively stepped closer, her hands rising to fist in his shirt. Petyr’s hand wove into the curls at the back of her head and he deepened the kiss, lips moving expertly against her own. She found herself turning on the spot with him and backing up, until she was pressed up against the door. One of her legs rose, hooking around just below his knee, steadily rising upward, skirt inching up to reveal far more than was strictly considered decent. 

Sansa didn’t care, reveling in fact in the indecency of it all, and when his hands crept down to drag the hem up further, she moaned her approval, hitching her leg up higher around his waist. As she did so, she felt his cock, still constrained by his pants, brush against her sex, and couldn’t contain a whimper. She was already so wet she could barely stand it, and, as it happened, she’d forgone underwear tonight, in another fit of costume inspired gumption. The door felt cold against her bare skin as Petyr bunched up her skirt around her waist, but not unpleasantly so. Instead it was a nice contrast to the heat burning at her core and ravaging through the rest of her body.

He pulled away, just enough to slip a hand between their bodies, and between her legs, groaning as he found her slit dripping. Sansa choked back a gasp as his fingers found her clit, his thumb circling the sensitive nub as two more fingers dipped lower and found their way inside of her. She’d never been touched this way, other than by herself, and it felt so much better, his fingers knowing instinctively just how she liked it. 

Really, she should have been more apprehensive, given that she was still a virgin, but she’d wanted this for so long, and tonight she’d become someone that simply went after what she wanted, whatever the cost. And so she wasn’t. Not when Petyr was the one touching her. Not when years of fantasy had finally culminated in the real thing, which far outpaced her imagination in every way possible.

When his fingers abruptly left her, his body, once so close to hers, startlingly absent, her eyes flashed open in consternation, wondering if perhaps he’d changed his mind. But he simply smirked at her, taking her hand and leading her to the richly carpeted stairs ascending to the upper floors. Sansa thought he might be leading her up to his bedroom, but he stopped before they began to climb, his hands finding her shoulders and gently urging her down until she was seated on the second step. Petyr knelt before her, kissing her hard before parting her legs, his mouth finding its home against her sex.

As he licked into her, tongue flicking against her clit, she leaned back against the stairs, eyes falling closed, hands weaving into his hair, dragging him closer. Two fingers joined his ministrations, curling inside of her, and she began to gyrate against his mouth and hand, breaths coming out in pants as the tension built within her. Sansa was aflame, perhaps surrounded by hellfire itself, and loving it. Every time she moaned or made any sort of noise, Petyr only seemed encouraged, eating her out with increased vigor, and soon she was nothing but flame in his hands, newly transformed and malleable to his touch.

He carried her through her bliss, then retreated, his hands gently smoothing along her bare thighs, down to the tops of her boots just above her knees. Sansa opened her eyes and lifted her head, meeting his darkened gaze with her slightly glazed one. Petyr seemed to be waiting for something, for her to recover, or maybe for her to give him a sign that she wanted to continue, so she slowly sat up, reaching for his belt and tugging upwards to get him to stand. He readily complied, and soon she’d freed his cock, licking her lips in anticipation of what she’d planned to do.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned in and took him in her mouth, eyes trained upwards to gage his reaction. She’d never done anything like this either, but, having watched porn online before (for curiosity’s sake and informational purposes, of course, nothing more), she had the general idea. Petyr watched her as she sucked his cock, running her tongue along the shaft as she did so. Despite her faked bravado, Sansa found her cheeks flaming as he continued to stare at her, and closed her eyes instead as she bobbed her head, finding a rhythm they both seemed to enjoy.

He groaned above her, his hands slipping into her hair, tugging gently, guiding her movements, though his hips never strayed from their position. Sansa was grateful for this act of consideration, unsure how far she wanted to test the limits of her gag reflex. Certainly, she didn’t want to ruin things by choking, or, well, worse. 

She kept up her efforts, growing bolder every moment, until his fist tightened in her hair and he pulled her back. Eyes wide, she peered up at him, but he didn’t seem to have any intention of halting their activities for good, but rather moving along to the next one. Her nerves spiked jarringly as he tugged her to her feet and moved her to the side before sitting on the step she’d previously occupied. One eyebrow lifted, his eyes darting from her to his lap pointedly, and she understood.

Sansa was about to straddle his lap, when he suddenly raised a hand to stop her. “Wait.” 

Petyr bent down, reaching into the pants crumpled around his ankles for his wallet. She watched as he pulled out a condom, quickly tearing open the wrapper and smoothing it down over his cock. It wasn’t strictly necessary, considering she’d been on birth control since she was sixteen years old, a safety precaution just in case, but she liked the forethought nonetheless. Resolving to tell him later, when it wouldn’t further interrupt the moment, Sansa slipped into his lap, her arms weaving around his neck as his mouth collided with hers again.

As they kissed, she rocked her hips, rubbing against his cock, gathering the courage to fully commit. His fingers played along her spine, squeezed her waist, cupped her ass, and then she rose upward and took the plunge, lowering herself slowly onto his cock. There was a whisper of pain, but not much, the sensation trending more towards discomfort than anything else. Sansa let Petyr help her adjust, his hips rising until he’d filled her completely. 

And then they began to move, slowly at first, picking up speed as her discomfort was eclipsed by a familiar chase. He bucked up into her as she rose and fell above him, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other gripping the banister for support. Soon she was crying out, her moans echoing in the empty hall, mingling with his, and the slaps of their thighs meeting in a sinful cacophony of noise. Her horns slipped from her head as she bounced in his lap, clattering onto the steps, but she hardly cared.

She didn’t need them anymore.

This was her, wild and untamed, half dressed and fucking in the stairwell with a man twice her age. It was who she was always meant to be, and she embraced it fully.

When she screamed as she came, it was his name that left her lips, the only one that had ever mattered resounding throughout the whole house. Petyr followed her soon after, rewarding her with her own name, though his exhalation was much quieter. They finally stilled, skin sheened with sweat, dampening the clothes they still wore, chests heaving, breaths strained. 

Heedless of her body’s need for oxygen, Sansa wound her arms around Petyr’s neck, crushing her lips to his. He kissed her back with a passion that rivaled her own, his fingers kneading the skin along her thighs, working their way up to her ass. But though they both clearly weren’t ready to stop, their bodies weren’t yet able to cooperate. Eventually they were forced to break apart, and Sansa rested her forehead against his, breaths still haggard.

“How did you like your treat?” he asked finally, leaning up to press a kiss against her sweaty brow.

She laughed. It had really been such a flimsy excuse, but it had worked, and that was all that mattered, really. “Very much so.”

Petyr smirked at her, raising a hand to smooth back her hair. “You’ve lost your horns,” he commented.

Sansa cocked her head to the side, mouth quirking wickedly. “I don’t think I need them anymore,” she murmured.

He regarded her thoughtfully, then nodded. “No, I should think not.” He paused. “Though, since they inspired this little dalliance, I wouldn’t mind keeping them, if you’ve no longer a use for them.”

“A keepsake to remember me by?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. Bending, she retrieved the horns, and, rather than placing them on her own head, she perched them on his.

Petyr chuckled, looking ridiculous in sparkly sequined devil horns, and yet somehow still unbelievably sexy. “Do I need one?”

Sansa shook her head. “No.”

“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Lol this was probably totally cheesy and ridiculous but once the idea came to me I had to do it.
> 
> Happy Halloween to my readers! Love to you all <333


End file.
